Screw You, Cato
by xusernamexgoesxherex
Summary: Cato just had to introduce himself to the new tribute-in-training, and what better a time than when she's missing every knife she throws?


**Author's Note: uhhh so this is just kinda a junky "how Cato met Clove" story i came up with at 1:30 in the morning. It obviously takes place outside of canon, because I played with the whole careers system a bit, and made it so they only volunteer at 18. Anyways, constructive criticism is welcome! enjoy (:**

Knife throwing was practically a part of Clove's personality at this point. Rarely a day went by that she didn't throw, and it was even rarer a day when she missed. Today was an extremely rare day. Her hair was knotted up haphazardly on the back of her head with an old elastic she'd stolen from her mother's vanity that morning, and her brows were furrowed in concentration. No matter how many times she took a deep breath, positioned herself, and threw a knife, none of them hit the target how she wanted them to. She had thrown all of the medium length throwing knives (her favorite, because they fit the shape of her hand the best) in the training center, and none of them had hit the bullseye. The closest she'd gotten was a blue handled one that had hit about a centimeter and a half too far to the left.

"Damn it!" How many times did she have to miss today? What was _wrong _with her? She never missed this badly, even on her off days. What would her trainer say about this? Clove was 15 now, and had officially been accepted into the Tribute Preparation training academy, and she was the primary female of her year. District 2 always chose two girls and two boys from each age group once that group hit 15, and the ones selected were on track to volunteer once they turned 18. There were always 2 girls and 2 boys, just in case something happened to the primary before they got a chance to volunteer. What if Clove's runner up took her spot? She would be ashamed, and it was a real fear to have. The female tribute who had been set to volunteer for the 70th games had been replaced by her runner up because her trainer saw her miss one too many punches during a combat session, and had decided she wasn't up to the task of representing District 2.

Clove let her hands come up to her face and she sank to the floor. She just needed a minute or two to recover. Yes, that was all. Training this week _had _been hard on her, since it was only her first week of official tribute prep. Those miles she ran had really kicked her ass, and her agility lesson had given her a twisted ankle from the rope climbing she had been instructed to do, and it still hadn't completely healed yet, even with the fancy Capitol Medicine District 2 was lucky enough to have on hand. Clove was so lost in her thoughts she didn't hear the Training Center doors slide open, nor did she hear the footsteps coming towards her.

"Well _someone _isn't gonna make it to volunteer," a deep voice mused behind her. Clove shot up to her feet, startled. "Such a shame, and aren't you the new primary?" It was Cato. Everybody knew him because he was such a beast at hand to hand combat and swordsmanship, even at just 17. He still had a year of training to go. He was also known for the seemingly hot tempered demeanor he had, which had become well known last year when he attempted to choke out his runner up after he had suggested that he was a better physical fighter than Cato. The boy never suggested anything of the sorts ever again.

"So you've heard of me?"

"Hardly. The only thing special about you is your throwing. That's all anyone even remembers about you, but to me it seems like you can't even do that," he gestured to the target which lacked a bullseye like a desert lacks rain.

Clove looked away. It was hard to face Cato when he was mocking her. He was like 6'2" to Clove's 5'4", and he was muscular where Clove was defined, but not anywhere near as strong as he was. She was definitely feeling the heat from his teasing, and she recognized it as an intimidation tactic. It wouldn't be the first time anyone had seen Cato try to intimidate another.

"One bad day doesn't mean anything."

"One bad day is going to cost you everything if you don't focus, Clover. Remember what happened to the original 70? She got replaced. Because of a bad day. You want that to happen to you?"

"Of course not! And it won't. I'm better than her, and I'm the best knife thrower in the training center. Even _you _have to know that," Clove said, finally making eye contact with him. He was smiling at her like she amused him, and he had blue eyes. _Really_ blue eyes.

Cato was attractive. Tall, tan skin, blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and a jawline that could cut stone even sharper than District 2's best masons. Clove could understand why the girls at school fawned over the boy, especially when she was this close to him. He also knew how to use this to his advantage, and it had helped him score private training lessons with some of the younger Trainers, which had helped him boost his skills. He was dangerous like that.

"If you're so much better than her, Clover, then why are your knives everywhere but the bullseye?" He was smirking down at her now.

Clove was adorable. She was short, and built a little more stocky than the girls who hadn't taken training as seriously as she had, but she remained slim and generally small. She had dark freckles all over her face, and a scar on her right cheek from when a knife had gotten a little too close during a practice fight against the runner up from the year above her. Her eyebrows were dark and thick, and her eyes were brown as the expensive chocolates Cato's dad would buy for his mother on holidays. It was rare that Cato actually stopped to look at a girl like that, because he really didn't have to. Most girls loved him on sight, and he had little to no issues with that system. But Clove was young, and he knew she was skilled. He had seen her during training before, when she was on top of her game, and he was impressed, to say the least.

"Get out of here before I use _you _as my next target," Clove said, rising on her feet a little in an unconscious effort to try to make herself seem larger than she really was. "Just because I missed before doesn't mean I'll miss again! And I won't get in trouble, I reserved the room tonight. Go use a different training room." She was offended by his comments, and they were only making her feel worse.

"You're awfully feisty for a girl who's relying on me not telling her trainer about her awful throwing. Trainer Bellona, isn't it? She's the one who specializes in knives and swords. But I tell you what," Cato moved closer to Clove, "if you just shut up for a second and let me help you, maybe you won't be such a screw up shot anymore, and maybe I won't have to tell Bellona that you simply can't compete in the games, which would make you a waste of time, money, and resources, wouldn't it?"

It was true that Cato could easily just report her and have her runner up take her place immediately, especially since no one would question him and his judgement. But Clove has those freckles, and those eyes, and he doesn't want her to get reported. He wants her to succeed. The way her eyes flash at him, like a cat that's getting ready to fight, excites him in a way he shouldn't feel for a girl two years his junior. But it does. And he wants her to stay, even if only for him to watch her fail in the future.

"How the hell are _you _going to help _me? _You aren't a knife thrower. You're a swordsman. And a combatant." Her eyebrows are arched and her arms are crossed across her chest.

"I can pull some strings. Meet me here, tomorrow night, after your last class. Don't eat beforehand, or I'll make you puke it all up. Training on a full stomache isn't a good idea," Cato said to her before stretching his arms behind his head, fully aware that his blue District 2 branded tank top was showing off his arms and the muscles that corded beneath his skin. With a smirk thrown in her direction, he turned and he left the training room, the doors slid closed behind him softly.

Clove watched him go, and her hands clenched. Who did he think he was? She felt anger bubble up in her chest as she recalled his teasing comments. All of the other tributes might fall all over him and his stupid muscles, but Clove wasn't those tributes. She thumbed the final knife she had on hand, running her fingers down the blade. His face and smirk slithered their way into her brain and she snapped. The blade went soaring through the air, and with a soft thud, it was stuck. A perfect bullseye. Clove smirked.

"Screw you, Cato."


End file.
